Maybe A Queen
by TheRowlingPierceWriter
Summary: A chilling vision for Alanna, a psychic dream for the Queen...


Alanna of Trebond and Olau woke early on a crisp September morning. She groaned as she dragged herself out of bed, and pulled on a gray shirt, tunic, and breeches, noticing glumly the extra weight she had added the past two months. She was out of practice, her dawn routine having been ignored for quite some time. The sun was peeking through the window at her, pink rays sliding into the master bedroom of Pirate's Swoop, which she shared with her husband George. As the newly announced lady of the Swoop, she had been deprived of free hours, and it was her dogged hope that she would finally be able to get some training done. As she crept out of the chamber, yanking her copper hair back with a cloth band, a sudden rustle of sheets caused her to turn guiltily around. She had inadvertently woken George, who was by nature a late riser. He yawned lazily and faced her, with a chin three hours past a five o'clock shadow. Alanna grimaced and bent over both to tie the short laces on her boots and avoid the teasingly suspecting glare from George. When she straightened she found her husband smiling crookedly at her, eyes still drooping slightly. 

"Morning, my dove," he greeted sleepily, stretching with a vengeance. Alanna sighed and walked to the edge of the bed, leaning over to kiss the baron of Pirate's Swoop good morning. 

"I'm off to the practice courts, I'll be back soon." Alanna explained, moving toward the door. 

A groggy George protested, "Dearest, you know their Royal Majesties and their Highnesses are arriving today." Alanna had forgotten.

"Jon? And-and Thayet?" She asked casually, heart thudding. Her last meeting with the king had been less than friendly and they hadn't spoken since.

"The children too, lass." He agreed, rolling off the bed to tug up his trousers. A troubled Alanna bit her lip.

"Will they be here long?" She was _really_ not looking forward to this meeting. She rolled amethyst eyes tiredly; she might not get to train after all. 

"Why, darling, you sound as if you don't wish to see them," George curiously pointed out. 

"It's not that…" Alanna struggled with a reason for her morose feelings toward the visit. "I just...am busy today." She finished, fidgeting.

"I thought you were out to the courts, sweet." George teased, sliding on a navy shirt and running a brush through his untidy brown hair. 

"I'll explain later." Alanna lamely excused herself, glad to escape the stuffy room and the pressing conversation within. Striding purposefully in the direction of the archery court, she stopped short to consider a mirror to her right. She was walking down a hall she had walked down a hundred times before-or was she? She didn't remember this mirror, and the paintings on the wall were strange, the flowers on the ornately carved tables lining it unrecognizable. Alanna surveyed the corridor. No windows, doors, or pathways led off of it. The hall was completely dead-ended, and for the life of her the lady knight couldn't think of any hall with its likeness in the Swoop. Frowning, she considered the mirror once more. It was gilded and smooth, made of the finest glass she'd ever seen. The frame was studded with jewels, and the whole thing was wider than she was tall, stretching from her thighs to her collarbone. No light reflected off of the mirror's surface, which Alanna didn't notice, or she would have thought it quite odd. Stooping, she squinted into the mysterious mirror, forgetting the upsetting vestibule she had found. Her face shined back at her, its ruddy pigment, pug nose, and blazingly purple eyes clearer than ever in its lieu. Alanna reached out a hand to brush the crystal plane of the mirror, and when the very tip of her finger touched it, lilac light flashed, and Alanna blacked out. 

__

The Queen of Tortall walked regally into the royal chamber to grateful applause. Gleaming locks of fire-colored hair were piled atop her head in an elegant and sexy upsweep. A delicate tiara beset with emeralds lay perfectly still against the updo, announcing to the world her place as Queen. Her dress, a masterpiece of violet silk and pearls, sighed as she walked. A sash, fringed with tassels ornamented with bits of ivory, graced her shoulders. Her outfit revealed quite a bit of smooth, snowy skin. As she passed by her people, they bowed as one, engrossed in her beauty and nobility. Her king sat ahead of her on a gold throne, her own to the right. No sound was made as she sustained her procession, every pair of bowing eyes peeking above their hairlines to watch her.

A sweat-soaked Queen of Tortall sat bolt upright in bed. The velvet spread beneath her was damp with her perspiration, and her goose feather pillow patted firmly down by her tossing head. She gulped breaths of air. What a strange dream! It had been so long, and so confusing. She had been herself, but different. First she underwent a knight's training, seven years of which seemed to have been clumped into one hour of sleep. She was married to a thief-of all the husbands to have, a thief! -and was painfully plain in appearance. Her stardusted life was ignored completely, the glamour of being Queen seemingly nonexistent. Gone were her years at the convent, her lessons as a lady, her betrothal and her wedding. Was it a sign? What if that was her real life, her real destiny, and it was just by chance and fluke that she had ended up as she had, the Queen? 


End file.
